


Pluperfect

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Series: June Fic-A-Day Challenge [11]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, amazing story generator, fic a day challenge, where did jemma go?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does an intelligent, independent woman do for work in 1940's New York?</p><p>No, really. What <i>does</i> she do? Jemma Simmons needs to find out before the rent is due. (AU in which the rock sends Jemma back in time)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pluperfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameMare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMare/gifts).



> The 11th fic in my [Amazing Story Generator, Fic-A-Day challenge](http://memorizingthedigitsofpi.tumblr.com/post/120419056932/ive-been-thinking-for-a-while-that-id-like-to) for June. If you want to, you can send me a prompt of three numbers between 1 and 60.
> 
> Numbers: 15, 26, 54  
> Prompt: As an incurable plague rages across the globe, a gossip columnist travels back in time.

Jemma gasped as she was vomited out onto a concrete floor much like the one she'd just been inhaled from.

 _In fact.._.

The place looked remarkably like the old SSR headquarters, aside from the fact that it didn't actually look, well, _old._

She was still catching her breath and just shakily attempting to get to her feet when she heard the tell-tale clacking of high heeled shoes. Dr. Weaver must be coming to check on her progress with the rock.

"Wait," she panted, holding out a hand to try to stop whoever was coming in, but the door was already opening.

"Who the blazes-" came a distinctive accent.

Jemma gulped as her surroundings clicked into place. Her eyes widened as she tried to think of something, anything to say, but all that came out was, "Peggy Carter?"

\------------------

"70 _years_ ," Peggy said again, replacing her tea cup in its saucer with a rattle.

"I'm afraid so," Jemma nodded, twisting her fingers uncomfortably in her lap.

"And the SSR still exist?" she prodded.

Jemma hesitated, taking a sip of tea to cover her pause. "Mmhmm," she said noncommittally, looking at the plate of biscuits.

"And that's how you know who I am?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"I'm still unclear as to how that rock," Peggy pointed in the direction of the room where she'd found Jemma, "Transported you here."

Jemma laughed humourlessly. "As am I."

A shuffle of feet and a flurry of male voices came down the hall, and the women looked at each other warily.

"Follow my lead," Peggy advised.

Jemma nodded and set her shoulders. Time to lie.

\------------------

"... My cousin from Sheffield," Peggy explained to her landlady.

Miriam looked Jemma up and down with a critical eye, and Jemma sent a mental prayer to the powers that be that she passed muster.

"You look _modern_ ," Miss Fry said in the same tone of voice she might have used to say 'You're covered in toxic waste.'

She cleared her throat nervously and tried not to fidget. "Modern?" she asked a bit fearfully. She really needed a place to stay if she were going to be here for any length of time.

What if she were here forever?

"... _independent_ ," Miss Fry was saying, and Jemma forced herself to concentrate on the moment at hand. "You're one of those _career women_ , aren't you?" she asked, stabbing a look in Peggy's direction.

Peggy, for her part, smiled back amiably, although Jemma noticed that she was holding her fashion magazine in a death grip.

"Well, I--"

"What do you _do_ , Miss Simmons?" she asked with her gimlet eye turned up full blast.

"I..." Jemma cast around for a period-appropriate career for a woman of her age, but was coming up blank. She couldn't very well say she was a biochemist, could she? That seemed like exactly the sort of _career_ (pronounced in much the same way that some people pronounced _venereal disease_ ) that would keep her out of the Griffith Hotel forever.

Peggy stepped up smoothly behind her. "She's a journalist," she said.

"A _journalist_ ," Miss Fry wrinkled her nose distastefully. "I really can't have--"

"With _the Times_ ," Peggy continued.

"The..." Miss Fry straightened up slightly and tried not to look too interested.

"Page Six?" Peggy asked, looking idly curious as if she didn't know for a fact that Miriam was a loyal reader of the society pages.

"Really?" Miss Fry asked, a bit breathlessly. The look she turned at Jemma had increased in warmth by at least 10 degrees.

Jemma smiled and tried to look like a respectable gossip columnist. "Just transferring here from the London office," she supplied.

"Oh my," Miss Fry laid a hand over her bosom as she tried not to let the cachet overwhelm her. After a moment in which she regained control of her emotions, she reached for a set of keys and held them out. "Welcome to the Griffith Hotel, Miss Simmons," she simpered.

\------------------

Jemma lay on her new bed and stared at the ceiling. It had been a whirlwind of a day, and she was simultaneously exhausted and energized.

Peggy Carter! She'd spent the day with the _actual_ Peggy Carter!

In 1940's New York!

And the SSR thought she was working for MI6.

And Miss Fry thought she was working for The Times.

And apparently, Peggy could make it so that she actually _did_ work for The Times? _Because_ the SSR thought she was MI6?

And at some point in the very near future indeed, Jemma was going to have to learn an awful lot about hair and makeup because Peggy had done a wonderful job with her today, but she wouldn't be able to do it all the time.

And she would have to invest in some new underthings because the ones she'd come in wouldn't do, and the ones Peggy had loaned her... also wouldn't do, but for entirely different reasons.

She was going to have to get a notebook to keep track of all of the things she was telling all of the different people she was meeting, and she was going to have to be very careful indeed in conversations with Peggy. She'd almost mentioned Captain America to her! As still being alive!

Jemma rolled onto her side as she thought about their love story and how it had been ruined by an accident of fate that separated them by more than half a century.

She knew all too well how Peggy must have felt.

Before she could let herself think too much about what she'd left behind, she got out of bed and walked over to her desk. If she wasn't going to sleep, the least she could do was plan out what she was going to do tomorrow.

She might be in the past, but she still had to deal with the immediate future.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I didn't get into the fish oil and the Kree and all that, but I did that in a fic a few days ago. I hope setting it after the finale is good enough for the 'plague raging around the world' bit ;)


End file.
